


The Ghosts of Forgotten Yesterdays

by khaosanomaly



Category: Dissidia: Final Fantasy
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Death, F/M, Introspection, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2012-07-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 21:38:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khaosanomaly/pseuds/khaosanomaly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Manikins are the doppelgangers of both warriors of Cosmos and Chaos. And yet, in Cycle 013, the Manikins of the forgotten are still fought.</p>
<p>Introspective work on the Warrior of Light encountering two such Manikins with allusions to a past relationship he may or may not have had in a prior cycle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ghosts of Forgotten Yesterdays

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally written maybe October or November of last year. I never posted it. I thought it was actually too lame to post really but I got this urge to post it just a couple days ago. I revised it a bit to make it flow a bit better but this work has not been looked over by a beta.
> 
> Anyway, WoL/Kain/Lightning is my Ot3 and this is my first published fic somewhat centered around that. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Oh and please forgive any wrong uses of tense and grammar. o7

He stares at the fallen Manikin at his feet.

The pink tone of its crystallized skin cracks, pieces of its hair starting to shatter. Its sword has already reached its demise the moment the battle ended. The wound he inflicted--the impalement of his sword through its chest--only widens and grows. The fissures are spreading quicker than the Manikin could heal its own wounds with its feeble Cure spell.

It would not be too long now until this foe disappears for good.

He should leave. It is only a Manikin, a mindless opponent sent by Cosmos’s enemies but instead he stays. He stays and watches, waiting until it—no, _she_ (for it is a _she_ and he somehow wants to identify her as such.)—breaks and shatters.

The color of her skin, the color of her clothing and hair--especially her hair for all its sharp lines and crystalline appearance--reminds him of something. Of _someone_.

It is out of his reach, another forgotten memory of his past that he cannot recall but knows he must have. Just like his name, he cannot remember anything. Who or what this Manikin reminds him of is not within his grasp.

This Manikin is not the first to fall by his sword nor will it be the last. This Manikin was not even the first of her kind that he encountered thus far. Yet, there is something about this one that makes him stay; something that makes him lose his focus and lower his guard.

For a moment too long.

He doesn’t see the attack coming, too consumed with the intent on trying to remember a memory he cannot reach. (A memory that may not even exist, except it _must_. It has to. Why else would she affect him so?)

The bite of a weapon’s blunt tip slams into the center of his back with enough force that, for a lesser man (without armor), it may be a killing blow. He falls to one knee, but vulnerability does not last long. He throws an item into the air; feels the cold bite of wind on his face briefly before ice fell onto his unseen opponent. He stands, raising his shield and sword. He moves, turning on heel before lunging to where he hears ice striking upon crystal.

He does not bat an eye at the foe he sees. It is another enemy he has faced before in this Conflict.

The Manikin—this time dark with accents of silver—roars at him in its disconcerting voice, its spear brandished and ready. It charges and attacks with a fury unlike no other, wasting no time to push him back and away from the pink Manikin he had defeated. Away from the Manikin who still has not shattered and disappeared completely. The very same Manikin who still somehow clings to life despite the cracks that cover nearly every inch of her being.

He retreats but doesn’t allow his guard to fall further. He waits for another attack patiently, knowing he could counter anything this dark Manikin throws but the Manikin only leaps back. It leaps toward the broken and fallen Manikin, dropping to its knees beside her. He’s too far to see every detail now, but even from this distance he sees two fissures along her face, almost like streaks of tears.

The dark Manikin makes a sound (one he isn’t certain to have heard from another; it is raw, anguished, _human_ ) as it takes her in its arms, holding her close as one would a loved one.

Manikins, he knows, have no feelings; no knowledge of affection. They are mindless and empty. Minions of Chaos and had no regard for life, much less each other’s and yet, he feels he stumbled on a moment too intimate for his eyes.

He turns his head and waits.

The clanking of armor behind him provokes him into turning. He stares into the blank face of his own doppelganger. It raises its own weapons, brandishing its sword. It speaks but he can’t understand any of it. The language is too jumbled and incoherent. It only grunts and growls but there are times, a comprehensible word could be heard if he listens hard enough. He does not know what his double is speaking but, he knows its intent.

He brandishes his own sword toward the Manikin, noticing the dark one from earlier suddenly appears at his double’s back. There is no doubt, the dark one wishes to fight him as well.

With a nod, he raises his sword upright, inches from his face. He sends a prayer toward the heavens (to Cosmos) before lowering his blade in a graceful sweep. His chin jerks and his shoulders shrug. His voice is clear and his words concise.

“Come. I shall give my all.”

He spares a quick look at where the first Manikin had fallen. She is gone, dust in the wind. There is nothing that remains except for his memories (feeble as they are) and the rage he thinks he sees in his doppelganger’s gaze. A rage that is mirrored in the dark Manikin’s own face.

They waste no time and charge together as one but he is ready. He dodges the first attack, a sword thrust from his double and leaps to the side, rolling in a somersault to avoid a downward strike from the other Manikin.

They work in tandem, taking turns as to when to attack. They attack in unison, never letting up or allowing any opening he could take advantage of. They fight him as if they are fueled by something more than the sheer desire to fight and destroy.

They fight for vengeance.

His eyes narrows. He sidesteps an attack from the taller Manikin. He throws out his shield at his double, catching the Manikin in the chest before striking out with his sword. He drives his double into the air. He wastes no time to call a Rune Saber but a sudden gust of wind knocks him aside.

He only has a moment before a Manikin falls on him with the intent to kill but he manages to parry the attack. Grunting, he grabs hold of the Manikin—his doppelganger—and throws him quick to the side. It gives him enough time to pull out another item from his pouch, another fang to be thrown into the sky.

Fire races toward the other Manikin as it leaps into the air for another deadly Jump. The magic connects and he follows through with a Shining Wave toward his double but he doesn’t pause to watch.

Instead, he chooses to dash toward the dark Manikin and strikes hard with his shield and sword.

Seconds later, the Manikin falls with a scream.

He doesn’t get the chance to see if he dealt a killing blow, but he knows he did. A shield slams into his back, the same combination he dealt to the fallen Manikin is now used on him. His double growls low. He thinks he sees its eyes flash in renewed anger. Light envelops its form and he closes his eyes before snapping them open.

Time slows to a near stop. He moves quickly, not knowing when that burst of magic would end. He is no Sorceress of Time, as the Witch Ultimecia calls herself, but what little energy he gathers, what little magic he absorbs from his surroundings allows him to slow time and create a blast of energy to retaliate.

He catches his double with a deadly shield attack, his Ultimate Shield combination as time speeds back to normal.

His double gives a cry of outrage, of disbelief. It roars with a dying garbled scream. It falls next to its companion, one hand on top of the other dead Manikin’s chest, the placement seemingly deliberate. (A fallen hand placed over where a heart would be.)

He watches as cracks form along their crystallized forms. He drives his sword, tip first, into the ground and heaves a deep breath of relief.

It is done.

He stays and watches until they shatter into nothing. 

He stays and tries to remember what he should be recalling from earlier, before he was attacked.

He stays and thinks of the vanquished pink Manikin and the outrage the other two embodied during the battle.

He stays and wonders who the girl and the dark Manikin’s originals were. All Manikins are the doubles and doppelgangers of someone and he does not know of anyone who resembled these two. On Cosmos’s side or Chaos’s.

Ghosts, he thinks, they must be ghosts of those long gone.

But of who?

He shakes his head and sets out to leave. He is done here, there is nothing left.

Any speculation he has would only deter him from what is important. There will be a time when he could consider all that has happened. A time when he will be able to contemplate all he wants but now is not that time. He has a task to perform. The others, they are waiting.

He dispels his weapons from sight and strides forward. A flicker of red catches his eye. He pauses and reaches out.

A rose petal, red as his blood, lands in his palm. He stares at it and suddenly feels a light breeze on his face even when he knows there is no wind; especially now that the dark Manikin had fallen.

He curls his hand around the petal and tilts his head toward sky as if expecting something.

Two names rest on the tip of his tongue.

A memory starts to unfurl. He could almost reach it but as sudden as it arrives, it is gone.

His hand clenches, crushing the petal in his hand until it is dust. He shakes his head until the imagined wind, too, disappears.

He cannot delay any further. He must continue.

The names, the memories, they would come when they will.

He knows this. He believes this. He has to.

Yet that doesn’t stop the ache he feels in his chest.

Or the sudden pain he had felt as he destroyed the pink and dark Manikins just moments before.


End file.
